The Truth

The waitress blushes, and Daniel pales, but after a second the waitress laughs. “Well, okay then!” she says heartily. “Good for y’all!”

Our waitress leaves, and Daniel gives me a curious look. “Tiffany, about the Daddy thing . . . you called me that the night you were hammered and—”

“Relax,” I assure him. “I don’t judge people who are into that, but that’s not me. Hell, I never even thought of you that way except to irk Elle from time to time. She’d squirm whenever I started talking about ‘how sexy Daddy is’. Best way to get back at her when she was really pissing me off.”

“Ah.”

I take Daniel’s hand, stroking the back of it with my thumb. “Daniel, we both know there’s an age gap. But I don’t care. I mean, there are couples who are great that way and couples who aren’t. Just like people who are the same age, though. So no, I don’t have a real Daddy kink. It’s honestly just about you. I have a Daniel kink, a very serious one.”

He nods, thinking. Finally, he says, “You scared the shit out of me when you drunkenly called me Daddy. My balls basically crawled up inside my body and shriveled.”

I laugh. “Glad I could get them out then. I can just imagine it now,” I tell him, screwing up my face into my best Daniel impression. “Absolutely not, young lady. That is inappropriate.”

Daniel takes the not-exactly-flattering impersonation with an easy smile. “Pretty good there.”

“Thank you, I’ve had years to work on it, and it’s admittedly based on Elle’s version of you, which to note, sounds nothing like you. But okay, we definitely don’t want any weirdness,” I say more seriously, “so consider it lost from my vocabulary.”

I proceed to ‘zip my lips’ and lock them, tossing the imaginary key over my shoulder before a thought comes to mind and I grin. “But if you accidentally slip up and call me ‘baby girl’, I definitely wouldn’t be offended.”

“Is that so?” Daniel asks, smirking. “Noted. So, now what?”

“Now, we eat breakfast.”

“I can get with that,” he says, “but you’re sure you’re okay with our age difference? I’m imagining you in twenty years, still beautiful and vivacious, while I’m slow-stepping it with a walker to get to the bathroom, where I have to sit down to pee.”

“That is oddly specific, but I don’t think that’s where you’re headed. You’re never going to be decrepit,” I assure him. “You live a healthy lifestyle and take care of yourself. I like that you’re mature, know who you are, and are confident in that. Does it bother you that I’m younger than you?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, thinking. I don’t rush him because he's adjusting to this idea for the first time while I’ve been dreaming of it for years. “No, it doesn’t.”

I scan him through narrowed eyes, noting the neutral look on his face and the direct eye contact. “Now try telling me the truth."

He blinks slowly, not breaking, even as I glare harder. Finally, he sighs. “Okay, there are parts of me that are worried. You could be dating someone younger, better looking, and not married to their work.”

I laugh loudly. “Younger, yes. Better looking? Seriously doubtful. Married to work?” I tilt my head thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s one of the things I like about you? You’re dedicated, hard-working, intelligent. But yet, when presented with something worthwhile, you will run off for a spontaneous beach weekend getaway.” I spread my hands through the air like Vanna White, gesturing to me, him, and the diner around us.

“Point taken.”

“Good,” I tell him, squeezing his fingers. “You let me decide who I want to fuck, date, and spend time with. I have a pretty good track record. And you figure out if you want to do those things with me.”

“I don’t have a good track record, unfortunately,” he reminds me. “My best friends are my own nephews, and I more than once almost got into a screaming match-slash-fist fight with my son-in-law. And then there’s . . .”

His voice trails off, his eyes looking haunted, and I know he’s thinking about how his wife left him and Elle. I shake my head, reaching across the table to cup his cheek. “I’m not her.”

He takes my hand, kissing my palm. “No, you most definitely are not.”

Breakfast comes, and we eat, enjoying the food. I don’t quite stuff myself, but as I settle into the passenger seat and lean back, I’m happily fed. “Where to now?”

“Thought we’d take the scenic route back,” Daniel says. “The highway’s so . . . normal.”

“Ah, and we’re not normal.”

“Exactly.”

There’s a moment of silence, both of us looking at the other expectantly, and then we burst out in laughter at the same time. “Yeah, I don’t think ‘normal’ is really a thing, but we’re also not exactly spontaneous, wild heathens who go on a walkabout willy-nilly.”